Molly scrutinized the blueprint of "Kiddie Kingdom" spread out on the cramped café table, her eyes narrowing at the maze of ball pits and bounce houses. Across from her, Bill nursed a lukewarm coffee, his expression a picture of skepticism. "Tell me again, genius," Bill said, his voice laced with sarcasm, "why we're risking our stellar reputations to steal from a children's party." Molly's gaze never wavered from the layout. "Because, my friend, the booty at 'Timmy's 8th Birthday Bash' is too enticing to resist. The guest list reads like a who's who of affluent suburbs. Those kids are getting spoiled rotten, and we're the rot." Bill raised an eyebrow. "You've been hanging out with too many grandparents. 'Spoiled rotten'?" Molly shot him a withering look. "Focus, Bill. We've got a window of thirty-five minutes between the pinata breakout and the cake singing. That's when the adults will be distracted, and we make our move." Bill whistled softly, cradling his cup in both hands. "Thirty-five whole minutes. I'm shaking with excitement. What's the plan for the, oh, I don't know, fifty to sixty presents we need to swipe in under forty seconds?" "Modified 'shopping spree' technique," Molly replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. "We dress as party clowns –" "Ugh, really?" "–and blend in with the chaos. Once the presents are opened and the kids start playing, we swap the gifts with our...ahem...'donations'." She produced two large, empty duffel bags from under the table, adorned with bright, swirling patterns and the words "Kiddie Kingdom Fun Bags!" Bill's expression transformed from doubt to admiration. "I'll be darned. You've actually thought this through. But what about the obligatory 'wise' adult who always seems to notice something?" Molly grinned, fishing out two bright orange wigs from her bag. "That's where our impeccable clown skills come in. We create a diversion – I'm thinking an impromptu, ridiculously enthusiastic game of musical chairs – and while the adults are distracted by our antics, we load up the loot." Bill chuckled, the sound low and smooth. "You know, for a borderline sociopath, you have a soft spot for chaos. I love it." Molly's smile faltered for a heartbeat before she regained her composure. "Hey, someone's got to keep things interesting in our line of work. Now, shall we practice our 'Honking Clown' noises?" Without waiting for a response, Molly let out a loud, nasal "HONK HONK!" that sent nearby café patrons staring in their direction. Bill laughed outright, joining in with his own, remarkably off-key "HOO-honk!") Their cacophony of clown noises merged, echoing through the café, as they high-fived, already counting down the hours to the heist of the most unlikely sort.